The night was long and deep, with darkness seeping like spilled ink across the calm suburban streets. Spencer Reid, the school's unnoticed genius—mocked as a "nerd" by the ignorant, admired as a "prodigy" by the astute—stood beneath the soft glow of a crescent moon. The plan was clear—climb a tree, get past a fence, and arrive unnoticed at the window of the only person who made him feel like more than the sum of his parts. Simple in theory.

In practice, there was chaos.

Spencer adjusted the strap of his messenger bag, bulging with books even for a mission as unconventional as this. He had spent days researching—cross-referencing climbing techniques, reading articles on balance, even skimming The Art of Infiltration (an admittedly dubious resource). Yet no amount of preparation could brace him for the vertigo that hit as he clung to the gnarled bark of the ancient oak outside their house.

The climb was a symphony of near-misses. A branch snapped under his weight. His untied sneaker snagged on the fence, sending him sprawling into the damp grass. By the time he reached the window—cheeks flushed and heart racing, he tapped softly, desperate and breathless.

They opened the window with a quiet laugh, the kind that made his stomach flip in a way no physics formula could ever explain. The sight of their smiling expression, a mix of warmth and fun, made the dread of his climb almost worthwhile—Almost.

"I'm never doing this again," Spencer exclaimed, holding the window frame as if it might collapse beneath his grasp. "Do you know how many variables could have gone wrong? Statistically, the likelihood of a fall increases exponentially with each step—especially when one lacks real-world experience! And let me tell you, the books completely underestimate the practical use of—" he groaned